100 Themes Challenge  Mystrade Drabbles
by CaramelCatkin
Summary: Mycroft/Lestrade centered drabbles, written because they needed to be. Plus I was asked to. Aiming to do all 100 eventually. Possible mentions of John/Sherlock as well as other pairings if you're lucky.
1. Blink

_A/N: Oh goodness. Mystrade drabbles. I was asked to do it for a friend, I swear. I'm surprised I'm publishing them too, don't worry. Enjoy? Mm, more like good luck. OTL_  
><em>Prompts from Variation 3 of the 100 themes challenge on deviantArt. I don't own the prompts, the characters or anything but the writing.<em>

1. Blink

"Greg. You're nervous."

Mycroft smiled as the detective beside him shook his head. They carried on walking across the gardens towards the large house in front of them. It was a little unconventional to step off the gravel path and onto the lush grass, but Mycroft had thought the occasion had deserved it. It was a nice day, and Lestrade was on the verge of panicking. What's more calming than a little stroll through the greenery? He spoke again.

"You don't have to be nervous, you know."

Lestrade frowned slightly and shook his head again.

"Who said I was nervous? I'm not nervous."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. Even someone that didn't have the Holmes' eyes for detection could tell. He couldn't keep his hands still for a start. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, checked it, placed it back again, fiddled with the tie around his neck, brushed a hand through his hair, kept adjusting the collar of his jacket… Mycroft was also pretty sure he was mumbling to himself now and again. But most of all he was blinking. Quite a lot.

"Gregory…"

Smiling gently, Mycroft caught Lestrade's hand as it attempted to dart back into his jacket pocket for the eighth time in the last five minutes. Halting, Lestrade jumped a little, glancing down at his captured hand, then back up at Mycroft's face.

"Come now. Maybe anxious, rather than nervous, is the better word to use, but either way, it's pretty obvious. Especially so when you're usually so calm and collected."

Lestrade flushed a little and dropped his gaze down at the grass.

"Well… Maybe just the smallest bit anxious. Or nervous. Or whatever."

Mycroft nodded and gave Lestrade's fingers a small squeeze that he hoped was reassuring. That's what they do in the books and movies, isn't it? It must have meant something, since Lestrade took a calming breath and looked back up at him, doing his best to smile. Mycroft repeated the action, smiling back at him.

"And anyway, like I told you this morning, Mummy is looking very forward to meeting you."

Lestrade's smile faltered fleetingly as he gave a wary glance at the house they were heading towards. Mycroft raised the detective's hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles gently.

"It'll be fine. Now come on, it's impolite to keep a lady waiting."


	2. Wedding

_A/N: I apologise in advance if this one mentally scars anybody. C:  
><em> 

2. Wedding

"So, would you ever get married again, Lestrade?"

Anderson rolled his eyes as his question caused Lestrade to choke into the pint he was drinking. Wiping the foam and beer off his face with his sleeve, Lestrade raised an eyebrow at his fellow officer/drinking buddy.

"What makes you ask that?"

Anderson shrugged.

"Just making conversation. You've been staring into space for the last ten minutes, completely off with the bloody fairies, you are. …Would you, though? Get married again, I mean?"

Lestrade looked down at his pint glass, thoughtfully. He considered the marriage he'd had to his wife. That was pretty good. He considered the divorce he had to go through when she wanted to end it. That was sodding awful. He frowned.

"I don't know. I mean if I was with someone that wanted to get married…"

He paused and considered Mycroft. And chuckled. That would be just about right. What was that question that Mycroft always rhetorically asked him when he argued about something they were doing together? _'That's what partners do, isn't it?'_ Lestrade nodded. That's the one. But something like a wedding? Wondering what Mycroft's views on marriage were, he took another sip from his glass. He struggled a little to imagine married life with someone like Mycroft. Then again, if the gentleman decided on whatever whim to propose to him, would he say no? It would be a little weird though…

"I mean, could you imagine having _Sherlock Holmes_ as a brother-in-law?"

Anderson frowned and tilted his head, confused.

"It's great you managed to drag yourself out of your thoughts to finally answer, Lestrade, but what the _Hell_ does that have to do with my question?"

Lestrade blinked, catching up with himself, and then flushed. He really had to stop talking to himself in his head and then asking people irrelevant questions, it was a bad habit he'd been picking up recently. Quickly draining the rest of his glass, he turned back to the bar.

"I meant… Could you imagine getting stuck with someone _like_ Sherlock as a brother-in-law. I didn't word it very well, what's this, my third glass?"

Anderson didn't look convinced, but shrugged and let it pass.

"It's your second, but whatever. Though you have a point, ending up being related to someone like Holmes would be bloody awful."

Lestrade nodded and tapped his empty glass on the bar, trying to get the attention of the bartender.

"Yeah. Well. He's tolerable. Maybe he'd be an alright brother-in-law."

Anderson snorted and drank down the rest of his pint too, sliding his glass over to Lestrade and offering him a fiver to get the next round in.

"So you're saying if Sherlock had a sibling that you fell in love with, and they wanted to get married to you, you'd say yes?"

Lestrade hesitated a moment, then smiled.

"Sure. If you love them, then why not?"

Anderson rolled his eyes again.

"Right. Better you than me, mate. Weirdo."

Lestrade didn't really hear him. He was being too amused by the mental image of Mycroft in a bride's dress.


	3. Fantasy

_A/N: These just keep getting longer and longer… I apologise. ^^'_

3. Fantasy

Mycroft sifted through the returned questionnaires, looking for the specific one he wanted. He didn't usually bother looking through these sorts of pointless things, but when he had heard that this one had been sent round Scotland Yard… He leant back in his chair as he found the one he was looking for.

Full Name: _Gregory Lestrade_  
>Job Title: <em>Detective Inspector, Scotland Yard<em>

The penmanship was official looking, the same kind he filled out his case reports with. Mycroft found himself smiling fondly. The questionnaire was a good three or four pages long, full of the pointless questions such as 'What's something you want to do before you die?' followed up with 'And do you think your job/your boss/the Government can help you achieve this?' Mycroft wasn't sure why they even bothered handing these things out anymore. Everyone was so cynical about the Government nowadays, and overall, it wasn't like he really cared all that much. He shook his head and turned back to flicking through the questionnaire in his hands.

23. Do you have a fantasy you'd like to live out in the next 2-3 years?  
><em>…Okay, now this is going to sound kinda silly, I should imagine… <em>

Mycroft chuckled. That was Greg, always concerned about not sounding like an idiot. Which he wasn't, he was just under the impression that he was. Mycroft carried on reading.

_And it's pretty lame as far as a 'fantasy' goes. I mean, I could write whatever I wanted to here. I could write that I'd like to rule the world, I'd like to become a celebrity, I'd like to win the Lottery, I'd like to punch a certain 'consulting detective' in the face, but since you've given a very specific time frame of 2-3 years, I don't think any of those things would be reasonable. And I'm not really bothered about those things anyway. Except that last one, that'd be good. _

It appeared Sherlock had been aggravating the poor officer again. It was a usual occurrence; there weren't many people that his younger brother didn't annoy. Mycroft often wondered how John put up living with the man. Having to share a living space with Sherlock seemed like it'd be more of a chore than a pleasure. Then again, unlike Lestrade, John actually got a chance to smack Sherlock in the face, so maybe that had something to do with it.

_Anyway, I'm not doing a good job of answering, am I? Alright, so, this fantasy thing. It's pretty simple, really. I'd like a holiday. That's all. A really nice, week-long break. Somewhere sunny. Somewhere I'd be allowed to wear a Hawaiian shirt legitimately. And sip alcohol from coconut shells with little umbrellas in them. Well, maybe that's going a little too far, but you get the picture._

Mycroft blinked at the paper. The lines provided under the question had been filled. Was that it? That _was_ pretty tame for a fantasy. He turned the page of the questionnaire to find that the answer for the question continued, slipped in to the questionnaire on a separate piece of paper. Pleasantly surprised, he took out the paper.

_Though where the real 'fantasy' bit comes in, I suppose you could say, would be concerning the person I'd like to go on holiday with. You see, they're really very busy. Like, all the time. And their job is pretty important too. So they don't really get the chance to relax and have time off. And you know, if I did get to go on a holiday with them, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't relax anyway. They would be too concerned with the work they're missing, and what their family was getting up to without their supervision._

Mycroft frowned. That sounded awfully similar. Hadn't Greg mentioned something to him about a holiday the other week? How had he replied? Ah, right… If his memory served him well, as it always did, he waved off the notion with a snort and a curt response of 'Don't be silly, Gregory. The Government doesn't take holidays.' Starting to suspect he was indirectly being scolded, Mycroft looked guiltily back at the paper.

_Like I said, pretty simple... Though actually quite hard to achieve. Not being in my control and all. But there you go, that's life, isn't it?_

23A: Okay, and how can your Government help this fantasy become a reality?  
><em>…Just take a week off. Just one week, that's all.<em>

Feeling blame he wasn't entirely sure he should be experiencing, Mycroft laid the questionnaire back on his desk and leant back in his chair. It was true, it was very difficult for him to get the time off. A whole seven days would be a lot… But maybe the country wouldn't fall to its knees without him around for a week. It was perfectly fine before he took up his position, wasn't it? Sitting back up, Mycroft dipped into his desk drawer for his planner. He glanced over the next few weeks. There was nothing of _national_ importance… Just a few visits to Parliament, a lot of meetings… He wondered if they could be rearranged. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he dialled for Anthea. Efficient as ever, she answered before he even heard the first ring.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Anthea… Next week. No, actually, the week after. Clear my schedule. Book two plane tickets. Somewhere warm. First class, if you would be so kind."

"Of course, Sir. And should I email Scotland Yard, inform them that their best Detective Inspector will be taking a week's leave too?"

Mycroft smiled. That woman never missed a thing. He decided that he should pay her extra for the week off, after all, she'll probably have to take over for most of the meetings he'll miss.

"Please. That would be marvellous."

"Of course, Sir. Anything else?"

"That'll be all, Anthea. Thank you."

He disconnected the call, slipping his phone back into his pocket. Taking a pen from the pot on his desk, Mycroft spent the next three minutes marking off the engagements he'd once had for the week he'd just cleared. Once done, he closed the book and placed it back into the drawer.

He wondered what Greg would say when he told him about his sudden choice for a holiday later.

He impatiently glanced at the pocket containing his mobile.

He took it out and speed-dialled the G key.


	4. Lock and Key

_A/N: Goodness. I apologise this took so long. I struggled with it for a while. Not a personal favourite, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. _

4. Lock and Key

"Lestrade! Let me out! This is… Police brutality!"

Sherlock rattled the bars of the holding cell door for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. Lestrade gave an acknowledging mumble and hardly even glanced up from the desk he was sat behind. After all, going through Sherlock's criminal record, which was currently spread out in front of him, was a lot more interesting than paying attention to the demands of the 'consulting detective'.

"You've done quite a lot of petty theft over the years, haven't you, Sherlock?"

"All completely necessary. Come on, Lestrade, I am going to go insane in here, let me out _now_."

Lestrade smiled and leant back in the chair he was sitting on, reaching across the desk for his standard issue, cardboard coffee cup. Sherlock watched him expectedly, rolling his eyes and resuming the pacing of the cell as Lestrade did nothing but smirk and take a swig of lukewarm coffee.

"I'm sorry, really. But what can I do? I'm under orders."

"Who's orders? No, I don't need to ask. My brother's, obviously."

The detective only smiled wider and shrugged.

"Well, you shouldn't hack into National records, Sherlock. You know he hates that."

"They shouldn't make it so _easy_ to hack then."

Sherlock nodded firmly. Lestrade tutted and drained the last of his drink, casually tossing the cup into a nearby bin. He sat up and gathered Sherlock's record back together, closing the file and getting up to put it back in the filing cabinet. Feeling that pressure you get from being under the impression of being watched, Lestrade turned to find Sherlock was back at the bars, staring at him again.

"…What?"

"How much longer _are_ you going to keep me in here, Lestrade?"

Lestrade shrugged. Mycroft hadn't really given a specific 'sentence' time, only a rather seemingly irked text of '_Currently on the phone; official business. Sherlock's hacked the government mainframe again. Detain him for me. MH._' So he had. Though now he was stuck practically babysitting… Even though there were quite a few of his division that were prepared to watch Sherlock in his cell, but he wasn't sure their intention was exactly… Good. Especially when Anderson and Donovan started arguing over which one had more right to go down and 'taunt the freak'. Either way, Lestrade had given up asking and decided to watch the man himself. He didn't really mind, the only thing was that his lunch hour ended soon.

"Yeah… I don't know. When you tell me why you hacked into to the… Thingy?"

"I was _bor_-"

"Sherlock, boredom isn't a legitimate reason! How many times are John and myself going to have to tell you?"

Sherlock pouted and turned his back on the officer, muttering to himself. Lestrade rolled his eyes, made sure the file was back in the right place and locked the filing cabinet. Over on the desk, his mobile started vibrating. Sherlock turned and pointed to the desk.

"Ah, pick it up now, that'll be my brother. Just finished talking to the Japanese Prime Minister if what I read was correct before you confiscated my laptop."

Lestrade glared at him, but obediently walked over to his desk and picked up his phone, noting that the caller ID did indeed read 'Mycroft'. Sparing Sherlock a questioning look, he answered it.

"Hello, Mycroft... Or should that be konnichiwa?"

"Hello Gre- What has my brother been saying to you?"

Sherlock shot Lestrade an 'I-told-you-so' smirk. Lestrade stuck his tongue out in retaliation and turned to be able to better ignore the man in his holding cell.

"Nothing. Well, nothing important."

"Hmmm… Well, at least you managed to get him before he did find out something important. Thank you~ He hasn't been too much trouble, I hope?"

"You're welcome. Trouble? No… Just a lot of complaining and heavy sarcasm."

Lestrade smiled as he heard Sherlock huff in the cell behind him. Mycroft chuckled over the phone.

"That doesn't surprise me. You can let him out now anyway. Well, as long as he promises to behave himself, of course. But anyway, I'm very sorry, Gregory, I have other important calls to make… I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this one short."

"Oh… Alright, Mycroft. I'll talk to you later."

Nodding, Lestrade lowered the phone, ignoring the disappointed feeling he got when the line went dead. Sherlock waited for the detective to do something other than blink at his phone for a good thirty seconds or so before coughing impatiently and banging the cell bars again. Lestrade jumped slightly, apologising and sliding his phone into his pocket.

"Does talking to my brother always have that kind of effect on you, Lestrade?"

"Shut up, Sherlock. You want to be let out, don't you?"

Lestrade grumbled, moving things about on the desk, trying to remember where he tossed the keys earlier. Sherlock hovered by the cell door. He'd been in there nearly an hour after all, he needed to get home to his laptop. And John would be there too, he supposed. Maybe with tea. That would be good. Lestrade finally found the keys under an upturned pencil pot and walked back over to the cell.

"Right. At least I can get rid of you now. It's been a delight as always…"

"Naturally, I'm wonderful company."

Sherlock muttered as he watched Lestrade slide the key into the lock. However, he didn't turn the key. Sherlock looked up and found Lestrade smiling at him.

"Before I do let you out, Mycroft said you had to promise to be good."

His grin widened as Sherlock scowled.

"For how long?"

"Well, for the rest of the week at _least_…"

Sherlock seemed to think this over for a few seconds before nodding. Lestrade shrugged, accepted the fact that a begrudging nod was the best he was going to get as an answer and unlocked the door, stepping back to let Sherlock out.

"I think I'll have to have a word with my brother about sending his police dog after me in future."

Stepping out of the cell and brushing dust off his coat, Sherlock held out his hand for his mobile that Lestrade had taken off of him before locking him up. Lestrade looked at the hand with a raised eyebrow.

"A please would be nice. Your phone's somewhere on the desk."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock strolled over to the desk, spotting his phone had been casually tossed on top of a pile of miscellaneous paperwork. He picked it up and quickly checked the six texts he'd received, all from John asking where he was.

"And Sherlock, lay off your brother for once. He's very busy. He was up at 4am this morning. And what you were doing _was _illegal."

Lestrade was standing by the office door, pointedly waiting for Sherlock to leave. Sherlock shrugged and made his way over to the door, tapping out a quick reply to John. He stepped over the boundary of the door, frowned and looked back at Lestrade.

"Wait. How do _you_ know what time Mycroft was up at this morning?"

Lestrade just about managed to stay straight-faced.

"Goodbye, Sherlock. I'll give you a call next time we need your help over here, alright?"

He closed the door just as the look on Sherlock's face confirmed he'd found the answer to his question.


End file.
